


Tastebuds

by ackles_ass_equation



Category: Original Work
Genre: Death, Depression, Fucked Up, Metions of attemtped suicide, Missing Persons, Murder, Murder Mystery, Mystery, creative writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 14:37:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17469431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ackles_ass_equation/pseuds/ackles_ass_equation
Summary: When people go missing, don't look. If you do, you might just find them.





	Tastebuds

Your family were not butchers. So why did you have a meat grinder? You’d never thought about it before. It didn’t seem like anything to think about. As far you knew, it had never been used. Though it was always sparkling clean. You attempted to ask at one point, but you were immediately shut down and told to not dwell on such pointless things in life.

Your mother always made you the most amazing stews when terrible things happened. The first time was when a number was involved in a robbery gone wrong. When the found him, his left arm had been badly hacked off and was nowhere to be found. Police, completely dumbfounded, had no leads, nothing to turn, no evidence, and absolutely no arm. The case remains open and you try to fit the pieces together from time to time when things are slow at the station.

The second time, a child had been kidnapped in the next town over. It was the only news for months. But lack of evidence and zero eyewitnesses made the case dwindle from the public eye. You are still looking for her and you make sure to tell the family every so often to never give up hope.

There were many times after that with regular stews. But the ones after tragedy were by far the most exceptional. It got to a point where your tastebuds would salivate when you heard of a missing persons report.

And then your sister went missing. She was only supposed to stay for a few days. She had to be back to her job by the end of the week. The day before she was scheduled to leave, her car was found in an empty corn field. The car was in perfect condition. The keys had been left in the ignition. There was no DNA other than your family’s. Most importantly, there was no one in the car.

Six pots of stew came after that. It was far too much for you to eat, so you donated most of it to a homeless shelter.

Stew wouldn’t bring her back. You knew that. If anything, that stew was the final nail in a coffin the would likely never exist. Proof that she was not coming home. It was as if holding that soup was holding her one last time. But you can’t hold on forever.

Nothing could numb the emptiness that was swelling inside you. Not the pills. Not the booze. Not the therapy. Absolutely nothing.

You’d had enough. You were not helping anyone. You were eating stew.

Six bottles of hoarded pills in your hands, you made your way to your mother’s basement. The last place you saw your sister. The place you begged her not go home so soon. The place where she told to go up, you can’t depend on people to stay in your life.

Six bottles of pills with caps off and lined along the table. Right in front of the meat grinder.

It had been used. Recently, hadn’t even been cleaned yet. You lean closer to inspect and notice what makes your stomach churn and your heart sink. A fingernail.

The meat grinder sat atop a wood chest you swore you’d never even seen before. Knocking the pills on the ground, you manage to pry the top open after moving the grinder. And inside is worse than a fingernail in a grinder.

Human teeth are scattered along the bottom. A man's wristwatch and wedding ring are in a Ziploc baggie. A child’s clothing in another. Your sister’s phone in the last.

As the box falls from your hands and breaks along the floor, you can distantly hear your mother’s footsteps racing down the stairs as she’s likely figured out what you found.

The world swims around you. You never liked swimming much. Always made you panic. This moment is no different. And you cannot save yourself. Cannot stop the blows of the metal bat to your head.

Over and over and over.

And she’s screaming that she’s sorry and that she loves you.

You try so hard to plead, to beg, to speak.

_Please. Oh god, please. I don’t want to die. Don’t let me die. Save me. Someone save me. Please save me. Don’t leave me here. Don’t let me die. Don’t let me die. Don’t let me die._

What in the hell could you have possibly done to deserve this?

Everything hurts. Until it doesn’t. Until it can’t. Until you can longer feel. No longer see. No longer breath. You know your heart has stopped beating. You have far from taken your last breath. And you are still fighting. It is over and you are still fighting. You have already lost, but you will always be fighting.

You were lied to. You were manipulated. And now you shall pay for others sins, though you will not be their salvation, their savior, your sacrifice will mean nothing. You will mean nothing.

After you were cut up, cleaned, packed, and frozen, your mother made you the most amazing stew. 


End file.
